


Game Plan

by Lavenderhydrangea



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Encouragement, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 04:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavenderhydrangea/pseuds/Lavenderhydrangea
Summary: “I brought you here to test out your coordination in a real life environment. Anybody can train in a lab or on a treadmill but out in the field?  That’s the hard part.”“Coordination?” Wally looked down at the street and couldn’t help but think of all it’s imminent frustrations.





	Game Plan

Wally barely had his foot in the hero bizz, but he knew getting an official suit was the equivalent of getting a license or at least a permit. Like a license or permit, the suit would come after a test. With the way Uncle B trained him, he figured he’d might as well start thinking of a code name. After all, Speedy was already taken.

“Sorry about the early rising, Kid. Especially on the weekend but I rather you get used to it now—Heroing is an around the clock gig with no pay,” His uncle said, soft rays of sunlight slowly chasing away the shadows on the side of his face.

“Is that part of the test? The rest will be pretty easy then!”

Uncle B laughed, “You wish.” His hands on his lips, he surveyed the landscape.

It was the most cliche cityscape Wally had ever seen. Yeah, there were nice, long roads, windy roads, and bumpy ones(thanks to pot holes and the city taking its sweet time to get around to them.) There were side walks, street lamps, and apartment complexes and businesses that just seemed too close to one another. This definitely was a normal city until the hill street thing they were standing on came into play. The high standing street took a sharp dip within a few footsteps or an inch of car. It wasn’t European stair steep but whoever designed it had to be related to Evel Knievel somehow. The adrenaline junkie wasn’t done either. Once you rode the flat street surface, it would climb up again. It was mostly smooth sailing after that but God, everyone hated this little stretch of road. They even called it, DMV Street in spite of it being part of Pearson Avenue. You go in mildly ticked then it was just down hill from there.

Heh.

Downhill.

Wally supposed you be would rewarded with the sight of Central River once you made it to the bridge but with ferries offering cheap prices for a ride it didn’t seem worth it. Plus, the river was never as pristine as one would hope. Wait a while and you’d see and hear the trash skimmer boat going by.

“I brought you here to test out your coordination in a real life environment. Anybody can train in a lab or on a treadmill but out in the field? That’s the hard part.”

“Coordination?” Wally looked down at the street and couldn’t help but think of all it’s imminent frustrations.

“Yeah. I was thinking I could make it a little more fun by making it a race. With how early it is there’s shouldn’t be that many people up and out. But there’s just enough people for it to be challenge. Plus, we’re near Star Labs so if anything makes it to the news most people will suspect it’s them.”

“Race!?”

“A little nervous?”

“You wish.”

Uncle B tried to ruffle his hair but was met with the ugly black cowl of his training suit. “Gotta get use to that.”

“I hope not,” Wally whined.

“We’re running all the way to Grocer street. You make it there and you won’t ever have to wear that thing again.”

“Simple enough.” Wally gained resolve. “I’m so getting that suit.”

“Excitement. That’s what I like to see. I put a tracker in that suit. If you run into any problems—literally or otherwise—I’ve got Jay near by with a tracking device. He’ll zip right to you.”

“You might as well tell Jay to put his feet up. I’ll clear this test on the first try.”

They decided they would each have a part in counting down to the race. They chose the ready-set one. It sounded better off the tongue and got him pumped more.

As always, he and Uncle B started off slow which he hated, it felt like he was running through quick sand but as he picked up speed he glided. Obviously, he couldn't glide as fast as his Uncle. Wally at least thought he could stay neck and neck until the next hump but there he was staring at his blurry back, trying to will his feet to take him faster.  
They zoomed through the next hump with ease(aka without Wally tripping due to him having to adjust his speed to the incline.) Uncle B was still ahead of him. How could he be a blur? He trained with him so why wasn’t he that fast?

Dang it, Uncle B. Run into something.

And of course as he thought that he narrowly missed running someone’s car door off of it’s hinges. He felt someone’s arm wrap around his shoulders then a subsequent yank and a rush, whooshing him backwards.

“You got to be a little more careful than that, Kid.” Jay said, smiling as they stood back at the very top of the first hump.

“I know. I know,” Was all he could offer.

He spent the next few weeks of the test bombing it. So much for it being easy. On his second run, Uncle B manged to get so far ahead that he’d gotten lost. The questions about that one were the worst. Explaining how he got lost even though he knew where the race was supposed to end was a whole new level of embarrassing. He just got so deep into the whole catching up thing, that he couldn't pull himself out of it long enough to really grasp his surroundings.

His third run was just dumb. Who delivered oranges that early in the morning? Er, well, aside from produce truck drivers. Alright, who would drop oranges so they could roll on the ground? Well, he would if he were a produce truck driver. It was probably Uncle B’s gush of wind that knocked the oranges over in the first place. Either way it didn’t help him at all. Maneuvering around the oranges was like trying to learn how to roller skate all over again. The very next week, he ran into this fruit frenzy yet again. This time around he bolted ahead to try to catch the fruit before it fell but maybe his grip was weak or he got a little ahead himself with all the excitement because he ended up tripping himself up. They were just in his arms and he fumbled them. He was also pretty sure the fruit produce man thought one of his orange crates vanished into thin air.

His fifth run was the closest he got to ever finishing the test. He’d made it all the way to the bridge with Central river flowing underneath. The problem this time around was the opposite of the problem he had during his second run. He stayed focused on his surroundings and his own footwork. Too focused. Now, he really didn’t know how it happened but Uncle B was gone. Again. Did he expect him to run on water? Cool as it was they hadn’t gone over that and it had been ages since he practiced his backstroke.

Later on in the evening, his mom made a dinner of chicken Alfredo with peanut butter cookies for dessert and invited Uncle B and Aunt Iris over. His father was eager to talk with Uncle B about the test. Wally’s speed had been just as much a bonding experience for these two as it had been for him, his uncle and his aunt. Before then they had little in common. It wasn’t on purpose, both tried, but ended up being awkward elephants. One thing that they did have in common was that they were both fairly hands on people in their respective fields.

“So,” his mom lifted a forkful of rolled up noodles to her mouth,” did things go better today, Wally?”

It was well meaning but he wished she didn’t ask right in the middle of dinner.

All eyes were on him.

He leaned back from his plate. “Uh, it was alright.”

“Alright?” She pressed.

“Okay, slight correction. The first half was alright. The second half...” He trailed off and thought of how he could talk about the whole thing without making his parents freak out on Uncle B. It didn’t matter that neither one of them were speedsters and thus couldn’t honestly give their two cents on the finer details of his training. They were going to do it anyway. And with their input Uncle B would be babying him in no time.

“With how you talk about your powers, I thought you’d take to this like a fish to water,” His father said.

Being the awesome hero that he was, Uncle B dashed in, “It took me a while to figure out coordination when I first started out. I was running on nerves and awkwardness.

“Awkwardness? You?”

Aunt Iris almost choked on her food, she laughed so hard. “Honey, I’m so sorry,” she said to Uncle B who was narrowing his eyes by then, “but you’ve told me stories about how odd you were before everything. I’d still love you but you weren’t always Mr. Hotshot.”

“I’d argue he’s still odd now,” His mom added.

“So you’re tag teaming me now?”

His father slid in “Well...”

“Et tu, Brute?” He looked at Wally. “Looks like it’s just me and you, Kid.”

Dinner ended on a lighter note, and with his mom insisting that Uncle B and Aunt Iris take a boat load of leftovers home. His mom got use to the appetite of two speedsters like it was nothing. It wouldn’t have surprise him if it turned she enjoyed it as some sort of hobby.  
His dad told him to help them carry the trays to the car. Powers or not he still had to have manners.

He was putting the last tray in the trunk when Aunt Iris tried to drop some knowledge. “I think what your Uncle was trying to say earlier is that even with meta powers there’s still a trial and error phase when trying to get better at something. And don’t forget the main focus of a test shouldn’t just be the grade. Every X you see there is to help you. If they weren’t there you wouldn’t know what you need to work on.”

“Yeah, and what if I flunk the whole paper?”

“Still helpful,” She singsonged.

“Great. I’ll tell that to my English teacher the next time time I get an F on my essay.”

Aunt Iris glazed over his quip in exchange for one last word of advice. “And, remember don’t compare your work to others’ too much. It’s good when you want to better yourself but sometimes it’s bad for the esteem when done obsessively. I can’ tell you how many times I’ve beat myself up over the fact that another reporter released a story quicker than me only to realize my work was suffering because of my fixation with their work.”

Uncle B suggested a break from the test for just a little while. No doubt a result of Aunt Iris doing her news reporter read on him the last few seconds before they left. She probably made him look pathetic to Uncle B. Like he needed anymore of that.

His father didn’t really like all the extra time he had since he was soft benched, so he thought it was best he got his blood going. His dad suggested that they play baseball. He was little of iffy about that. His dad was really obsessive when it came to baseball. The thought of his past little league seasons made him cringe. But he suggested gathering up the neighborhood kids and playing football instead and Wally wasn’t doing to do that. So they settled on playing catch with the baseball.

“That’s a shame,” His fathered lamented. “Football’s a great game. I’m supposed to be teaching you everything I know. Taking you to games. Cheering you on from the bleachers. I feel like I’ve missed out you know?”

“It’s just that I don’t like to be tackled.” Or dealing his father’s weird sports lust.

“You’re going to get tackled chasing after the Flash aren’t you?”

Wally stayed quiet.

“I know people don’t think it’s something that requires a lot of brain work but anyone who says that never looked beyond the news articles they find on the internet talking about rowdy fans trashing their home towns after their team lost. It’s a game of wits. You need a game plan if you plan on winning, “Zeal overtook him. “What’s the quickest way to advance down the field? Which defensive player is the one you should keep an eye on? What tactic or strategy is better suited for all the players on your team? What plays into their strengths? It’s much more than tossing a ball back and forth. Take you for instance. You’re fast now, right? You’d make a mean running back—A tail back to be precise. You’d be able to rush the ball to the end zone no problem.”

“I can’t use my powers like that, dad. That’s cheating.”

“Oh, fine. Steal all my fun. Focus on the strategy, boy.”

“Alright, alright. You said that you start off with a plan. What if it seems like the plan isn’t working?”

“What you’re talking about is a quarterback. Possibly one of the most important members of the team. They reiterate all the coaches plays to the team in a way they all understand and they have to have quick thinking too. They can change a play at the scrimmage line if it looks like the play they’re going with won’t work out well.”

“And how do they know a play won’t work?”

“Something’s usually off with the defensive line. Look at it this way. Strategy or the game play is all about understanding yourself, your team and your opponents.”

“Mind games.”

“Yup.” His dad said proudly.

The cogs in Wally’s head whirred. “Do you think that that works on things outside of football?”

“I don’t see why not.”

He told his father to hold off on the catch and that he needed to study. The man was miserable. He probably planned to spend the whole day with him.

“Uh, dad?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. Remind me that I owe you a game one of these days.”

With that, Wally went to craft a game play of his own. Instead of begging Uncle B to start that test again, he asked Jay to take him to DMV Street and to watch him run. With every problem he ran into, he and Jay would take note of them and analyze why they thought he was having such a problem with it. Jay was much better at it than he was because he could go beyond just a practical understanding of his problems. He didn’t only focus on implementing more jumps to avoid danger but he zeroed in on why Wally was so hesitant when it came to jumping. They found out that it was, duh, because he was nervous. There was a layer underneath that as well that for once Jay couldn't get to since he claimed Wally wouldn’t budge. Whatever that meant. It was starting to seem like his problems had problems.

Eventually he felt ready enough for the test again. Like the last few times, Uncle B took them to DMV Street early in the morning.

“Sure you’re ready?” He asked.

“Born ready.”

“Alright. Why don’t you start off the countdown?”

“Ready,” Wally said.

“Set,” Uncle B supplied.

“Go!” They said in unison.

The test started the same way it had since the beginning—slow and steady then fast. He kept close to his Uncle’s heels for a few seconds. He even ribbed him.

“That suit is mine.”

After the second hump he ended up falling back. This freaked him out at first but he knew he had to stay on it. He had to think and be aware of everything yet not to the point of hyper focusing.

He could tell how long it had been since his Uncle passed by the way his surroundings reacted. A skirt that billowed too harshly was a good marker. A crate of oranges spilling over was an even better one. The oranges rolled all over the street and adrenaline made his heart pound as he vaulted over them. He weaved in and out of the way of the people and things that threw themselves onto his path: The blockheads who must’ve wanted to live the rest of their lives without a car door and the plastic bags and pamphlets that use to smack him in the face and temporarily blind him. Man! At times he had to deal with his own two feet.

He tried to suppress the overwhelming relief that resonated in all parts of his body when he made it to Central bridge.

Something in the back mind chanted, “thisisitthisisitthisisitthisisit!”

Again, Uncle B was just gone. He steeled himself. His uncle unlike, most teachers, wouldn’t test him on things they’ve never gone over before.

The horn of the trash skimmer boat blared.

Yes.

He waited until it made its way from under the bridge to the other side. Determined, he leaped over the railing and into the boat’s dustcart.

Uncle B was waiting there on top of a pile of trash with his arms behind his head and a grin.

“Wait til they dock then it’s back to hitting the pavement to Grocer street for us.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, a little dazed.

Uncle B ruffled his hair—or better yet the cowl of his ugly training suit—and said, “You’re pretty cool, Kid.”

He grew dizzy with joy.


End file.
